Sleep shredded, I tumble
into action, an anxious preamble
to a list of half-assed tasks,

open the blinds and pour coffee
into a fragile cup, pardon
the earwig skulking along the sill,

and stare at the sunrise as if light
might save a wounded world while
Israel and Gaza slouch toward war.

Sorrow makes me retune the news
to classic choices that lighten me,
despite hearing another day lost

heal-and-toe against killers,
and knowing that music
cannot save a hair-trigger world.